


crisis in Identity

by orphan_account



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crime Fighting, Drowning, Hostage Situations, M/M, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:34:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22179394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Bruce wakes up in strange place, Not much different from his own. Except: there's no Batman, his parent are alive, and He's married to... The Joker!?
Relationships: John Doe/Bruce Wayne, Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 33
Kudos: 266





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello reader! I just want to give you a heads up that the doc your about to read is heavily based on the comic 'identity crisis' written by peter Milligan. And also an episode from btas called 'penchant to dream' you don't have to have know anything about them to read this, but there are many references and plot points ripped from them. Just so you know.  
> And as always please leave comment if you like this story!

The river water was so cold it burned. It was the only thing Bruce could feel, besides the loud pounding of his heart against his chest.

The only thing he could see for miles was a horrific, dirty, blackness. He tried to anchor himself through the shock, and the burning, sting of the water filling up his unwilling lungs.

Which way was up?

He wasn't dreaming -Bruce decided then and there, everything hurt to much for this to be a dream.

Which way was up?

He kept turning that question around in his foggy mind.  
His eyes strained, looking in every direction, with the vigour of a madman facing his own death.

Which way was up?

Suddenly, he see a tiny beams of light. It had to be the true, morning golden glow of the sun. Hanging above him like a halo.  
Desperately, Bruce began to swim up to it. His muscles strained, and his body ached with the effort, but he continued. Up and up and up...

Up until, his head broke through the surface of the water. Bruce takes in large gulps of the sour gotham air, with a grateful aggression. After he sucked in enough of it to think straight; he looked ahead of him. And just a few meters away, is a shore that was more litter then shore. It even had a little dock that he could just make out the rotten wood of. The sight of it could of almost made him cry with joy.  
He started a hasty paddle towards the sight.

All the while he was trying to rap his brain around exactly what the events that transpired last night, that caused him to wake up in the Gotham river. Did he as Bruce Wayne attend some social event, or some sort of charity bash that took place on a boat? Perhaps the boat sank? If so, was there survivors?  
But no matter how much he searched his brain, his memory was just a black, swirling vortex.

  
Why couldn't he remember? Did he have a concussion?

His internal questions halted when he reached the litter-infested sandy shore. And finally, claimed out of the murky waters. His expensive, handmade, party suit clung to his frame quite uncomfortably. Bruce hardly noticed over the wash of relief that being on dry land ignited within him.

He had to get home, Alfred should know he was doing last night.  
His nerves settled at that thought. Then he enthusiastically and expeditiously made his way to the manor.

But no matter what, he wouldn't let himself to get the worse case scenario. That if someone had attempted to kill off Bruce Wayne... It was some one just may know about his dirty little secret.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce returns to the manor.

When he reached the manor, Alfred face is there to greet him.

"Why sir, your all wet!"  
"Impeccable observation skills as always my good friend." Bruce snipped as he stepped into his parents home.

Moisture soon started to drip off of Bruce and collecting in puddles around his feet. Alfred jogged into the manor Leaving him alone. The he quickly returned with a towel in his hand.  
"Alfred, do you happen to remember what it was I was doing last night?" Bruce asked, while Alfred draped the warm, fuzzy thing onto his shoulders.

"I... Well I'm afraid not sir," The butler's wrinkled face scrunched up in confusion. "Perhaps you where invited to a particularly exclusive soiree, and you had a bit to much of there wine and cheese."

Bruce considered this. "Hmmm... Perhaps. Its true I don't recall much; but I hardly drink, seems kind of our of character."  
Alfred shrugs nonchalant, although his eyes showed genuine concern.

"So what am I working on at the moment?" Bruce began to Take off his damp clothes. Showing.no shame in front of the man who practically raised him.  
"Working on? Why sir, you have your popular playboy persona to manage, along with being a dilettante among other things," Alfred promptly picked up the discarded articles of clothing, and made his way laundry room. "I suggest you hop into a warm bath, before you catch a case of pneumonia." He called out from the other room.

Bruce rolled his eyes, as if he was a teen once more.  
"well thanks. Alfred, instead of giving me a answer you decide to be particularly eccentric and british to me. "  
He said that last sarcastic remark to himself.

. . .

Bruce takes a quick shower. The hot water soothed him, and it felt nice to get clean. But he felt as if there was a thick black, storm in his mind, clouding out the memories of the night prior.  
It's giving him a headache. And what was it with not answering him straight, when he asked what his current project was? Maybe Bruce was imagining things... His family always did say his worst trait was his paranoia.

' _there's got to be a logical explanation for all of this'_ Bruce reasoned with himself. As he puts on his velvet, bathrobe.  
'there always is'

. . .

As Bruce walked down the hall, a ghastly shiver ran down his spine, almost like a physical manifestation of his bewildered nerves. The chill settled as quickly as it came, but the anxiety continued, gnawing away within him when he enters the manors library.

He ignores all of it, when he b-lined for the hidden congealed, entrance to the bat cave.

There was an electronic eye tucked inbetween two bookshelves. your supposed to wave your hand in its close proximity, then it would scan your hand prints, it would only open if you where someone who was authorized to enter the cave.

Or at least that was what it was supposed to do. But nothing happened, it didn't work.

Bruce re swiped his hands, no results. Was it broken? No, that was practically impossible, there where plenty of back up generators. And if any serious malfunctions arose, an alarm would be set off.  
He looks closer at the mechanical eye, almost pressing his face between the shelves. And...

When he was first considering installing a new entrance to the cave, Dick had begged it to be in the library. "It's like the movies Bruce: you pull a book out of the bookcase to reveal the secret passageway!" He had said. Bruce had argued that if someone was looking for a secret passageway, that a disappearing bookshelf would be the first place to cross there mind.

It was Alfred pointed out that, it was so incredibly cliche, no one would think that it was actually there. "I do believe that they would think you have a bit more imagination then that master Bruce"  
The electronic eye was there compromise.

It was a good memory...

Telltale eye wasn't there.  
The only thing Bruce could see was wall and shadow.

How can this be... It was impossible... Practically impossible! (Or at least that was what he told himself.) The Panic that's been in his gut the entire day, swells up and washed over him in waves.

' _Think logical, maybe Alfred changed the system.'_ he thought. ' _It's wise to changing your security measures. but why would he do it without telling me?'_

 _"_ Alfred! Alfred! can you come down hear!" Bruce called out in a anxious rush.  
It takes a while, but soon Alfred trots into the library.

"Yes? What is troubling you sir?"

"Alfred! The entrance to the Bat cave is missing. O-or its faulty, I'm not really sure."

Skin around the Butlers eyes seem to pulse and waver, just enough to show Bruce his confusion. "ehh... sir, I am afraid I don't quite understand what your referring to."

"Please don't try to fool me. I need to go down stairs and attempt to uncover what I was doing last night." Bruce took a deep meditative, breath before he speaks again. "Also, I respect your diligent choice. But you should always tell me when you make a change in our security. Especially when it comes to matters such as this."

"Master Bruce are you feeling up to par? Ever since you've arrived you've looked rather pasty."  
Alfred took a concerned step closer to him. Then just slightly, raised is hand, almost as if he wanted to rest it reassuringly on his shoulder. But all he does is let it hover in the air for a moment, before deciding to shove the limb to it previous position, politely behind his back. "But if you truly wish to go downstairs I shall show you the door."

Alfred leads Bruce out of the library into the hall. They stop in front of a wooden door painted a sickly grey, which was peeling around the edges. The sight of it made Bruce's head spin, he felt nauseated. Because he was sure that door wasn't there last time he wandered these halls. Was he losing his mind?

"-Strange that you've lived in this this manor your entire life yet, finding this old door can't be an act of singular redundancy for you." Alfred sarcastic words cut through his internal turmoil.

Keep you're hold Batman, you need to stay calm. There is always an answer. And you can't find those answers if you don't stay clam.

Alfred flung open the door. The hinges creaks in great protest. The smell of old moldy wood and dampness wafts out from the darkness behind the door.  
"do be careful going down sir, the fifth step in particular is rather horrid."

Bruce lingers there for a moment longer, staring at the stairway leading down to what seems like the first layer of hell. Alfred is also staring, at him. He raised a single pointy eyebrow as if to say: "today would be lovely sir."

His body felt exactly like it did in the river, so cold it burned.

He took a few tentative steps down, down, down...

The bat cave was gone.

Bruce stood in the middle of the ugly room for awhile, like he was waiting for it to appear before him.

As if this was some sort of practical joke.

But it was just a normal basement with dust, books, photos, and his even a chest full of his old baby clothes. And no bats..Just roaches and spiders, maybe even one of two rats running about, but no bats.

It's a pretty fucked up joke.

He raced for an explanation. A villain perhaps? Joker, two-face, scarecrow was a likely candidate because this was surly his greatest fear...

Was it madness? Is brain circled back to.  
No, no. He's not mad, a mad person wouldn't even stop to consider there state of mind. He's not mad, he's not... The world is.

The world is.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is worried. Bruce plays along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry to the Short chapter. But guess who's coming next chapter!

"Alfred!" Bruce cried out while sprinting into the living room, "Alfred the batcave is gone! "

The old man whom he was referring to was dusting off a lamp. He had automatically turned when he heard his wards voice.  
"What is this talk of caves sir?"  
The Butlers words made Bruce skid to a stop. He felt angry, confused, and most of all betrayed. Betrayed by the universe for putting him in this dream.  
"You know what the Batcave is! Next you'll be telling me you don't know who Batman is!"

"Why, that's absurd of course I know who the Batman is, he's that popular costumed vigilante that goes around frightening crooks. But I can not for the life of me understand what the Batman has to do with you..."  
His tone was as cool and smooth as usual, but every word whipped Bruce deeper into a pit of despair.  
"now sir, I do believe I have some porcelain to dust." Then the older man took from his apron a cloth, and began to gently scrub at the dirt in delicate grooves of the lamp.

Bruce watched him for a moment, listless. A sharp pang of pain struck throw him like a blade, and every fiber of his being began to quiver.

"Alfred... You know that I am the Batman." Bruce said, raspy whisper as if he had just woken up from a deep slumber. 

The older gentlemen gave the one reaction Bruce wasn't expecting, and certainly didn't want. He chuckled. "I do hope your joking, You? Batman? Why sir have you not seen today's news?" With that Alfred went over to the glass coffee paper and picked up a rolled up news paper, unfurled it like a banner, and shoved it in Bruce's face.

'Batman live at the scene of police investigation!'  
The headline screamed at him. 

"By the way sir, I'm making some excellent Scottish salmon for lunch today sir. Will have it after we pick up master John."

His voice was just a muffled echo in Bruce's ears. The entire world seemed to melt away to just the picture of Batman and James Gordon standing in front of a police tape. The sky was a blueish orange color, saying that this picture was taken this morning.

Around the time Bruce he woken up in the gotham river.

. . . 

An half an hour later, Tim came back from school. 

Bruce hardly noticed , he was still staring at the newspaper. He also turned on a news channel on t.v and listened intently as the anchor women babbled on about the assault that took place in front of a Wal-Mart that morning. 

He theorizes that who's ever done this to him must also be impersonating the Batman. He's already planning ways to stop this doppelganger, when the current boy wonder comes barreling in front of him.

"Hey Bruce! I finished my homework in the car. Miss. Caesar is really egging us all on because of finales. But it's fine, world history has always been one of my favourite subjects." Drake babbled on with no sign of wanting to halt.

The billionaire perked up. "Tim thank god! something has happened and I need your help with."

"wha? help you with what?" 

"I want you to hit me." Bruce said darkly, "When I was a child having a nightmare, I would get one of the figment people of the dream to hit me to wake me up." 

"Hit you? Are you pretending? Is this a joke? " the boy asked hesitantly.

"I'm afraid not. Ever since I came back to the manor everything has been so strange, and well... I'll tell you about it later. Right now I need you to hit me."

"Alfred told me about..." Tim shuffled around nervously. "ok I'll do it. But only a pinch okay?"

Bruce nodded. "A pinch will do."  
With that Tim stomped over to him, and have him a mighty pinch on his forearm. It sort of hurt, a punch to the jaw would of been better. Although now there where to small angry red lines on his arm. And that was proof enough.

"Oh god...what's happened to me?" He said to himself.

"Dad, if there's anything you want to talk about-"

In a matter of a millisecond Bruce put on one of his million dollar mr. Wayne gleaming smiles.  
"No it's fine Tim, I just have contracted a cold and it's really bothering me." He says.

"Well okay then." Tim didn't look like he believe him, but he seemed willing to suspend his disbelief if it ment changing the subject. "Well if you're not feeling up to it, do you want Alfred driving when we go and pick up John?" He asked.

Now who in the absolute hell was John? He doesn't let that internal question affect his outward demeanor. No, for now at least, he plans on going along with this weird reality he has found himself in.  
For now.

"I would really like that, would you go out and tell Alfred that while I get dressed?" He got up and waved dismissively before walking to his Bedroom. 

"Okay, alright." Tim mumbled, then walked to the kitchen with shaky legs.

As Bruce passed through the corridors of the mansion, he tried to find any clue he could as to who this 'John' figure was. He knew a lot of Johns, but that wasn't helpful, John was a extremely common name.

There where plenty of pictures in the halls. Of Dick, Tim, Barbra, Jason, (who seemed alive and well in this reality.) And Alfred. (Who was mostly the one taking the pictures.) 

Then one particular picture made him pause. It was a selfie, of him smiling fondly to the person next to him that only a great familiar bond can grant you. and the person next to him, the one taking the picture, was the Joker.  
A much more pale, sane looking Joker. But that grin is unmistakable. During the long years of his unconventional career, it has been permanently seared into Bruce's mind. 

He flinched, and then remembers that whatever... This is. illusion? Alternate universe? Some sort of drugged fuelled nightmare? He doesn't have all the information of it, it's entirely possible that Joker in this environment is a good guy. Or at least a sane one.

He hesitates for a moment longer, then moved on to his Bedroom.  
There he changed from his robes to a button up shirt, dress pants and shoes.  
In his dresser he found a silver ring, it was classy, some would call it plain, but the simplicity is what gave it it's charm. Bruce never cared much for outlandish jewelry.  
He slipped it in his pocket, having a feeling that the band of importance, and that he may regret it if he doesn't.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Just so you know certain concepts/ ideas where inspired by the Telltale game, but this story does not take place in the Telltale universe.

The three men loaded themselves into the sleek limousine. Alfred drove, grumbling occasionally about lunch. Leaving Tim and Bruce to politely converse in the back.  
Tim excitedly chatted on about: this and that grade, this and that friend group drama, and this an that cute girl. Bruce tried to keep a smile on, or comment when necessary. But it proved to be difficult, he felt persistently paranoid that Tim could see through his facade. That it would only take one poorly planned word to set Tim off on accusing Bruce of being an imposter. That was his strongest suspicion, that he was the imposter, who just took over another man's life.

Also, his nerves where not helped with the fact that he had no idea where they where going. He never got the chance to look out the window and deduce where they where heading, unless he wanted to risk his young protege thinking he wasn't listening. So he didn't know what the destination was until they arrived.

When They had finally parked the limo, it was in a fairly crowded parking lot. In front of a huge, white concrete building. It had a cold corporate look to it, but he had a sense that it was effective in whatever it's purpose was.

Bruce didn't gawk for to long, he hastily crawled after Tim out of the car.  
When he had got out, the air tasted like a vague mixture of medicine, and even the grass smelled sterile. He didn't know this place, and wouldn't of believed it, until he saw the sign.

' _Arkham hospital for the mentally ill.'_ It read.  
It was printed in big gray, blocky letters on the side of the building.

Bruce blinked once, to see if it would be replaced by the old monstrous gothic, Arkham Asylum he remembered.  
"Are you ready?" Tim stared up at him with wide eyes.  
Bruce smiled sweetly down at him. "Yes, of course," he said, while grabbing the boys hand. "Why don't you lead the way?"  
he looked a bit disturbed with the sight of having his hand being held at his age. But despite that Tim did as he was told and diligently led Bruce into Arkham.

The inside of the building was just as cold and organized as the outside.  
He found himself in a front office. It was completely quite, when they entered folks turned to study them for a moment before turning back to there own business, the wallpaper was a blueish egg color, and the whole room smelled like erasers and freshly printed paper.

A lady behind the desk gave them a slight acknowledgment in the form of pointing to a sign-in clipboard, before returning to her conversation on the phone.  
Bruce Wayne jotted down his large and loopy, cursive signature.  
In that time, Tim had plopped into one of the seats and pulled out his phone from his pocket and was contentedly tapping away at it. Bruce shuffled over and sat in the chair next to him.

There wasn't that many people in the office. There was an elderly African American couple reading the same magazine, a mom watching over her son with down-syndrome as he played with blocks, and a young man just slightly older then Tim who was also tapping at his phone. Soon a frazzled older woman came out of a door that was next to the desk, and the young man and her leave together.

"John will be with you shortly." The lady behind the desk had said it, like she had said it a thousand times. And Tim shook his head like he has heard it a thousand times.  
Bruce went and grabbed a magazine from the rack right next to where the elderly African American couple where sitting. Then he sat back down on the cushioned chair.

He did not read much of the magazine, there wasn't much time to read it. Because the next thing he knew, a man just a little taller the him walked out. The same white door the older women came out of. The man was sickly pale, the tips of his dirty blond hair where dyed green, and he wore a warm grin. A grin that made Bruce's heart freeze on sheer instinct. It was a grin that no matter how many times he's seen it, will never fail to terrify. And even now Bruce can still hear the blood curling laugh that goes with that grin.

'You don't know the details,' he had to remind himself, 'you don't know this person.'

The man's eyes clicked onto Bruce, his irises where an acid green. When those horrid eyes saw him, they enlightened with joy.

"Bruce!" The man bellowed, sprinting towards him, engulfing him in the tightest hug Bruce has ever had. "Oh I've missed you!"

"Well gee, you where only hear an hour!" He heard Tim say. He sounded slightly annoyed but in a loving way. Then, just as quickly as the lanky arms wrapped around him, they unwrapped from him. And John quickly scooped Tim up in a hug, which by the looks of it, was just as Bone-crushing as Bruce's was.

"Yes But with you in school and Bruce at work; I haven't seen you two all day!" John cried out, people where beginning to stare. Bruce could feel there gaze crawl on his flesh. Eventually, Tim escaped Johns cruel grasp. -As Tim kindly put it.- And the two shared a good laugh.

Bruce just watched this entire interaction from the sideline. He felt as if there was a glass barrier separating him and the rest of this, debatable real, world. He felt like these people where nothing more then characters in a movie, or animals at a zoo. The feeling wouldn't go away. He needs to figure out what is going on, but he can't answer that right now, he's waiting until it gets dark.Things will be different when it's dark.

"So where's Dr. Leland?" Tim asked.

The last thing Bruce remembered was that he was in his private jet, going home to gotham after a particularly stressful mission with the league. That was it, every time he tried to reach into his mind for more information, his head gets fuzzy. And his ears begin to ring.

"She's busy with other patients," John responded simply.

"Well then," Bruce said, pushing past his internal turmoil, as well as keeping on the delicate Wayne charm despite it all. "If you're ready to go, we should head out."  
That wasn't the right thing to say, Bruce knows it by the concerned look on Tim, also with the confused glance John was giving him.  
"Alfred is making lunch," Bruce blurted out quietly.

John smiled in good-nature, "alright, okay, " then, he turned around and got a couple of sweets from the bowl on the lady's desk. He gave one of the little lollies to tim, and tore off the wrapper of his. "Let us get going,"

Bruce turned heels and left out the way they had came in, he saw in the corner of his vision, Tim and John follow. The cool air of the parking lot hit him hard, he was so tired, the emotional kind.

"Hey wait," John croaked. Bruce swivels around to face him, The grinning man then leaned into Bruce, and placed a kiss onto his mouth. The kiss only lasted a second. It was more a wet peck then anything. But the taste of his lips lingers and tingles on Bruce.  
He's just stood there with his face was on fire, and his mouth hanged open like a fish on land. He stared intensely at John, he was so thin and pale, he wasn't bad looking but he could picture his skull easily. Bruce wanted to holler, to punch something, he wanted to do anything else then act like this was normal, kissing the Joker was not normal!

"Love, are you alright?" Jok-John asked in a soft worried tone that the Joker would never have. Bruce breathes in deeply from his nose, and plastered on a more socially acceptable expression.  
"Oh am fine... Honey," he said experimentally.  
"Okay, if you say so..."  
John began to chewed the corner of his mouth, -it was kinda cute, Wayne had to reluctantly admit to himself.

"Don't listen to him Dad," Tim said while walking out of Arkham's front doors, "he's like suuuper sick."

John's face scrunched up. "Blech! Wish I new that before I kissed him!" he started referring to Bruce; "It's so like you to keep your routine up even when your not feeling up to it."

Bruce lets a key word wash over him: Dad. Was John his husband or just a boyfriend? Was he's Tim's step-dad? He didn't even touch on the fact that he's married to a man in this reality, there was already to much on his plate to deal with that.

"Haha! Yeah, although, Alfred told me that he hasn't gone to work today," Tim responded.

The company! Dammit, he was so wrapped up in his own head he hasn't even thought about the outside world!

He had to make an active choice to push this influx of new information to the side and focus on moving things forward. Things where overwhelming and confusion, but he still had to keep his wits, he was still the batman. No matter what this strangely domestic world presented to him.  
"Ha! At least that explained why he's been so quiet today!" John joked, Bruce swallowed down the bile In his mouth.

In one of Bruce's rare acts of very little planing, (some would call it being bold.) He gradded John's hand. The soft pale limb felt so unfamiliar and alien in his hand. On his ring finger was a silvery band, almost exactly like the one Bruce had found on the night stand.

The conversation Tim and him where having halted, John stared at there intertwined fingers with an expression that perfectly manifested what Bruce felt inside. "Dear... Where's your wedding ring?"

Bruce's eyes widen, and he quickly fished out the ring frim his pocket, thanking every single lucky star in the sky that he had the foresight to grabbed it when he saw it on the nightstand. "Must of slipped off. Hehe..."  
John simply responded with a 'hmm... '

The three of them walk to the car. There they found Alfred reading a newspaper.  
They got in, Bruce sat in the middle inbetween Tim and John.

Bruce mentally sighed. This was going to be a long drive...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman confronts himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey this is my first time writing a fight/action scene, so please be kind! Also if you like this chapter leave kudos and comments.
> 
> Update: there was a problem getting the whole chapter up but it's fixed now!

The afternoon slowly dripped down like wax on a candle, until it was just a puddle and a stud of wick. 

Bruce considered himself a patient man. Or at least he prided himself on it. But the day just dragged on for so long. He had originally planned to sneak out after everyone had gone to sleep. But keeping up the act of normality was just extremely draining for him to keep up. So by dinner time he was to mentally exhausted, and so desperate for questions that he excused himself as quickly as he could.

He rushed to making up a work related reason for why he was going out so late. 

"Master Bruce, will you be back tonight?" Alfred had asked, only a little sarcastically. 

"I'm not sure, I do have an entire days work to catch up on. But I'll try." Bruce promised flipintly. That answer seemed to satisfy the old gentleman. And with his blessing, no one bothered him too much. 

Except when he made his way out of the door, John stopped him and gave him a goodbye kiss on the cheek. And he had murmured that he loved him softly in his ear. Bruce left without responding, if John noticed he didn't mentioned it.

Then he got into his car. he didn't have access to the Batmobile, but his red Lamborghini would suffice. 

He drove as fast as legally possible to various supplies and convenient stores. Although he could of simply bought all of the items at one store, he paid in cash, just for the sake of keeping a low profile. Which was difficult being the well-known Bruce Wayne.

Although,to his surprise, no one recognised him. There was no gawking, no whispering behind closed hands, no one explaining "why isn't that Bruce Wayne!" 

Could it be that he wasn't famous in this version of reality? Was it even possible to be rich and not famous?

By the time he was done shopping clusters of stars where appearing in the sky. 

He had bought: a grappling hook, not a grappling gun, (they didn't sell them in Gotham, It never stopped him before, but he didn't have the time to get one.) A skimask, gloves, a bulletproof vest, and a new pair of clothes. (he left in his work suit for the sake of his lie.) And finally, police scanner. 

After he got everything he needed, he when into the stores bathroom and quickly changed. 

Then, he was driving down the street, free from the public gaze. He fiddled around with the police scanner. The sounds of static and voices filled the car. 

But then he didn't need to listen for crime, because a group of five or so police cars zoomed past him. Blowing up papers and skirts alike. 

Bruce peered out of the cars window into the city skyline. He found what he was looking for in the swishing and shifting of a black cape hopping from building to building. The movement was so quick one could almost convince them selves it was a trick of the night. 

Bruce knew that where the cops were, Batman was a few feet ahead. 

He speed up, he felt the adrenaline in his veins, fuelled entirely by the knowledge that he was close to a answer.

. . . 

It was a hostage situation. 

Bruce collected information with a blend of the police scanner and eavesdropping. 

The story was: Alex Danvers was holding his daughter and son at gunpoint in his apartment. He had gotten a divorced from his wife a little over a year ago, and the process had left him financially troubled. So during his day with the kids Danvers tied up his own children, and was now demanding a hefty price for there lives, and a ride out of gotham. Typical hostage situation. 

It disgusted Bruce. Those kids trusted him, maybe even loved him, and this was what he did with it.

Alex Danvers was on the fifth floor of a tenth floor apartment. (room 484.) from where Bruce was standing, he could just barely see the moving silhouette of the 'Batman' making his way up to that floor. Bruce took that as his sign to get to work. 

First, he made sure that there wasn't to many cops around, if he was in his bat suit he could of just demanded that they let them pass, but that want an option. Lucky enough, it wasn't to hard to find a opening, police cars where still poring in and around.  
Getting out of the building was a whole new problem: by then they would have the building surrounded. Bruce was counting on having this situation sorted out by then. 

His family and the league liked to say that he always has a plan, that's true to some extent, you always have a plan if you don't have a plan. 

He used his grappling hook to hoist himself up the building, it took himself a couple of try's to throw the hook exactly where he wanted it to go, but eventually he heard it clamp down on a window sill. Then he gave the rope a quick tug to make sure it was secure, then he began his climb up. 

While he was treading up the building, he saw more G.C.P.D arrive, talking among themselves. He could also pinpointed a noticeably less battered commissioner Gordon, standing right next to him was Barbra. 

Bruce felt a pang of sadness when he laid eyes on her. it made sense, if Joker didn't exist, Oracle wouldn't either. 

He hastily reached the window, He kicked in the glass. The boots he bought perverted a sprained ankle, but he could feel a few bruises blooming on the sole of his foot.

When he entered the fifth floor, it was completely evacuated. The only thing Bruce could hear was the exited pounding of his own pulse. It was a very contrasting shift from the outside commotion of the previous moment. 

The deserted halls made it much easier to navigate the halls. He had sneaked up to, then stopped, in front of apartment 484, and just stared intensely at the painted golden numbers. 'What was he really trying to do?' That's the question had for himself. Was he just expecting to kick the door down, knock Danvers in the face, and save the day? 

He didn't have the high-quality equipment he was use to working with as Batman. He was going to get himself killed.  
Bruce was beginning to muse on the idea of turning around and going home.

When all of the sudden a brittle masculine voice screamed: "G-get away from me!" Followed by the loud cry of a gunshot. 

All of the hesitation drained out of his mind, Wayne ran, colluding his shoulder with the door. Then he did that again, and again, and a third time. Until he was rewarded when the door frame popped of its hinges. 

The boxy apartment has seen better days, not many, but certainly better. 

Sitting on the stained coach, where the children- twins by the look of it.- Bounded up in rope, with dirty rags stuffed in there mouths that muffled there cry's.

And there was Alex Danvers. He looked around in furious panic from where he stood by the window.

"How h-how did you get in here!" The older man hands shook as he pointed his gun at Bruce, "get out!" 

Then he took a shot at him.

Bruce did a speedy cartwheel diving out of the way of the bullet. The brass clip grazed the side of his thigh. He doesn't feel any pain, just the trickle of blood dampening his pants, he knows he will feel more later. 

He was preparing to dodge another shot. Then he saw the window burst open, and then the 'Batman' silently slip into the one-room apartment. 

Alex Danvers eyes where wide with fear, and trained onto Bruce. If the older man heard the fake Batman come in he couldn't tell over the shivering and shaking of his hands. 

Alex looked nearly ready to pull the trigger, when 'Batman' ran up behind him, and gave him a mighty kick to the back of his knees. Alex fell to down face first on the floor with only a tiny 'oomf.'  
The children screamed in delight around there gags. 

Bruce feels like he's watching a reflection of himself in a mirror working. He was almost expecting a cheap costumed punk who wanted to be Batman for a day. But this was certainly not the case.  
He could feel another headache coming on. And all of the sudden, very unsure of himself. And, strangely, inexperienced.

Alex raised his gun and takes and a shot at the imposter from where he is on the ground. Bruce reflexively kicks the gun from out of the fathers hand. The bullet collided harmlessly with the wall, and the gun skids across the room.  
Bruce kicked the mans head with the sole of his boot. Rendering him unconscious. 

After that, Bruce froze and took a sharp breath in so his heart would stop beading like a petrified mouse. Doing it in such a way that it looked professional, even cool. It was an art he had mastered years ago. 

When he looked up, the impostor was using a Batarang to cut the twins out of there bindings. 

'get him,' his thoughts yelled. 'now's your chance.' 

The imposter turned to him, and gave him a crooked smirk Bruce has given many times before. 

"Thanks for your help," he said once children are out of there binds. "You make a good distraction." 

When There freed, the children cry in relief, while they hug the impostors legs. 

Bruce felt a red fire burn inside him. What the imposter said to him was meant to be a quip, a joke, he knew that.  
But there was nothing funny about this situation, there was nothing funny about children's lives being on the line, there was nothing funny about poverty causing enough desperation that people a willing to hurt that own, there was nothing funny about being Batman. 

"I don't know who you are, or why your doing this," Bruce said much more calm and collected then he felt. "But this ends now!" He roars, lunging himself at the impostor. Ready to punch this fake in the face.

He knew he had to act fast, there was who knew what sort of weapons and gadgets he had in that utility belt. 

But then, his fist just fly's safely through the air, the impostor had dodged.  
Bruce tried the same thing with the opposite hand. It stirred the same results. 

'what is it they say about insanity? Its doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results.' A more logical, less angry part of him thought. 

The black cape swirled around him and he had couldn't process that the 'Batman' was behind him before he got kicked with cleat boots in the stomach. 

Bruce bended over is bruising pain. He could hear the kids clap and cheer. His bulletproof vest prevents him from being in to much anguish. Although, there's still a great deal of mental anguish. 

'Oh God he's faster then me.'

Bruce got his bearings quickly enough. Then he graded on to his grappling rope hanging from his belt, and swings it as hard as he could at the impostors jaw. 

The hook hit its target, the imposter stumbled backwards, clutching onto his offended Jaw. Then, still holding onto his chin, he sprinted full speed twords him. 

Later that night, Bruce would scold himself for not being fast enough to get out of the way. Now, however, he had no time to feel regret because next thing he knew he's being tackled to the floor.

Bruce wasn't going to scream, he never did in these types of situations. But the wannabe didn't know that, so the fake clamped his black leather glove over his mouth. 

"Now you listen up!" The imposters voice reminded him of his own fathers voice gently scolding him when he was in trouble. "Now listen hear Bruce," 

He shivered at the recollection, the imposter probably thinks that he was scared, he wasn't scared. He swears.

"A swat team is going to be up here in a minute. I'm willing to let you go, only because you helped me, but you have to promise that you'll never do anything like this again. Nod if you understand." 

Bruce looked around the room as he weighed his options. The children's are huddled behind the couch watching and whispering excitedly among themselves.  
He'd have to go, what other choice did he have? The only reconciliation he had was that he would try again, and maybe next time they would skip the violence and actually talk. Maybe.

So, even though it crushes his dignity, he nods. 

With that the impostor hoisted Bruce up, and still holding onto his shoulder, marched him to the window. 

"Then go." He said plainly.

Bruce hooked his grapple to the window still. Tossed down the rope. Right before he started to climb down he saw the G.C.P.D barge into the apartment. Scaring the kids. 

"Did ya get him Batman?" He heard Gordon said, a little out of breath.

When he got to the ground-floor, he walked three blocks back to his car. And sleep in it for the rest of the night.

. . . 

That night he dreamed of the justice league all dressed up as Batman, crying at his funeral. Some in mourning, some in delight.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home again. Faces are reveled

That night he slept in a fitful haze, which wasn't all that unusual. 

He kept having the same bad dream, one repeated over and over again, as if it was crying out for his attention.   
During the night he would sometimes wake up in the dark car, and shift around for a bit, before inevitably falling back to sleep. 

When he finally arose into wakefulness, the events of last where seared into his brain, making there be no chance of forgetting a single detail. 

Bruce was never the type of person to wake up and momentarily not know where they where, he always remember where he fell asleep.

But today he wished he could forget. That for just a few short seconds he could be from free the confusing world he's been thrown into. But alas, this was not the case, there was to much work to be done for moments of blissful ignorance.

Out of the window he saw that the sky was a watercolor pallet of blues a oranges. It was morning. This was going to be tough to explain to the 'family.'

He tried to start the car, he heard the engine rev up, but it didn't move an inch. He tried a few more times, when that didn't work he exited the vehicle to inspect it from the outside. 

He quickly found the source of the malfunction: the car had no tires.

He went up to a homeless women who was lounging in a nearby alley and asked her if she had seen what happened. 

The women scratched her oily head and said, "some kids looted them things last night for a buck." 

Bruce nodded, he had the same very same suspicion. The women must of read this as sadness. 

"oh, It could be worse, with a nice looking car like yours, lucky someone didn't try getting inside. Its real lucky, at least you didn't get hurt." She said, not trying to hard to comfort, but not entirely cruel aether. 

'yeah lucky.' Bruce thought bitterly as he hauled himself back into the Lamborghini.

There he changed back into his work suit, then stuffed the worn clothes and gear into a black brief case. 

He got out of the car, swung his brief case over his shoulders, and tossed his car keys over to the homeless women.

"You could probably find more use out of this thing then I could." He said. Already walking away before she could find the words to thank him.

He could always just buy a new car on the way home, or lie and say he gave it to charity. Perhaps if he did that his puedo-family wouldn't be so mad that he's late.

. . . 

As Bruce walked through from the city too the more scenic, suburban side of gotham where Wayne manor resides, he mused that this was the second time in the last two days where he had to walk home.

He was also pondering a believable excuse for, one: why he came home so late. And two: why he returned home without the car.

He was really beginning to regret giving that homeless women his Lamborghini Gallardo. Considering that it would of been so much easier and less expensive to just get some new tires. (Not that he was ever worried about money.) But giving it to a random stranger seemed unwise.

By the time he reached the manor doorsteps he had banished those thoughts away. With the logic that no matter what the situation was, he was still a hero, and hero's don't do the easy thing, they do the kind thing.  
Beside, even if that women wasn't the most model of citizens, every person deserves a place to rest. 

He took his renewed sense of purpose, and humble mobilization, and used it to muster the energy to knock on the door.

This time the face that greets him is not the stoic face of Alfred but the eccentric John that pokes out. 

From the moment that he opened the door, Bruce knew he had been crying. The red rims and glazed sheen really accentuated how very big John's eyes are.They like a green-eyed doe, and looked just as innocent. 

Then, John features shift into a excited smile. One so wide that it wrinkles the skin around his eyes and reddish mouth, reminding Bruce exactly who this man resembles. (Not that he needed reminding.)

"Bruce! Your home! Thank God we where worried!" He said, pulling Bruce by his wrist into the maw of the manor. 

. . . 

One of his earliest memories he had was being woken by Alfred, and being dragged down to the dinning room to find his parents eating breakfast before they would go to work and took him to school.   
Later, after the events that change him into him, he had took these memories and gently tucked them away to relive them whenever his nightlife got to hectic.

Now, it felt like he had stepped into one such memory, one so detailed he might as well stepped into a photograph. It was by far the most intense case of d'ej'a vu anyone has ever had. Because his Parents where alive. Sitting right in front of him and drinking coffee.

But it wasn't a memory, the wrinkles around his father's eyes and the white locks of his mother's blond hair told him as much.

They where hear. Even if they where another version of themselves, or are not real, they are still hear, in the flesh, or just a figment of his imagination.

He felt John poke at him in a impatient act to try to get him to move. Bruce paid him no mind. He continued his open gawking, not caring to pretend that he wasn't waiting to see what his resurrected parents would do.

How could he pretend? How could he act normal in the face of something this monumental?

His mother blue eyes looked up to meet his. He had his mother's ocean blue eyes, he had always looked like his father but he had her eyes...

"Bruce," her voice was as warm as it had always been. "come sit down, it's been awhile since we've chatted."

Bruce blinked the water out of his eyes, then sat down in the chair next to his parents.

Alfred was in the kitchen preparing breakfast, John had just sat down, Tim was most likely at school, and his...Father was reading a newspaper. 

"Alfred told us that you haven't been acting yourself in the last few day's" his father said as casually as could be, after taking a long sip of his coffee. 

"Babe, where worried about you." John said as he slung his arm over him, his painted nails lightly grazed over Bruce's exposed neck, He was way to distracted and even more disoriented to feel the usual shock of having the Joker touching him with such intimate familiarity. 

Bruce watched as John picked at the lacey tablecloth with his free hand. 

"Is this a intervention?" Bruce asked. 

"Oh no no no!" His mother rushed out,  
"that's quite an exaggeration," His father clarified over her.

"We just came to check if your alright." Mother put her hand on his fathers arm, silently communicating to him that she should take the lead with this unofficial intervention.

"I don't mean to sound defensive..." He said slowly, like a drunk pretending to be sober. "But I'm not sure what I did that would cause so much concern,"

"You don't!?" John lashed out then, noticed what he was doing, settled down and breathed in deeply, to collect his thoughts before speaking again. "One," John put up his pointer finger. "Alfred told me that you came home late yesterday and didn't remember where you where the night prior. Two," 

John held up another finger. "He also told me that you started raving about Batcaves and how you where the Batman, -three" another digit was raised. "Tim told me that when he got home from school you asked him to hit you to see if you where dreaming."

John's pinky finger flew up- the painted nail glittering like a spaceship. "-and four, you came home late today, when I called mr. Fox he said that he hasn't seen you around the office for the last couple days. So forgive me if your husband is a little worried about you!" 

Bruce looked around the room at all of the concerned faces, And he knew then and there that there is nothing he can do to avoid this. He began to feel much like a butterfly pinned into a picture frame. He's a prisoner, except the bars are his parents worried faces. He knew what he had to do.

"The truth is..." He started out with fake confidence, then, The lies seemed to froth from his mouth like a rabid wolf. "The truth is... When I came back home yesterday. I couldn't remember large aspects of my life." 

Bruce paused not for dramatic effect, but so he could see if his words had any effect on his 'family'. His mother had her free hand covering her face, a shocked expression etched in her eyes. His fathers face was guarded, but his brows where furrowed as he studied him intensely. From the corner of his eye, Bruce could see a tear running down John's cheek. Bruce was surprised that he was tempted to wipe it away. 

"I don't know what happened, all I know is that I couldn't remember names, faces, and places. It's has been coming back to me slowly. Like where the basement was, and who Batman was-"  
"I wish I could forget Batman," his father says sarcastically, before being shushed by his mother. 

"I-I'm sorry I didn't tell any of you." Bruce continued, "I was just confused and scared I didn't know what to do." He said that last sentence earnestly. He was so confused and scared, he had absolutely no clue what he should do. 

"Oh there is nothing to apologize for Bruce," his mother said. " We'll all help you to the best of are abilities." 

Everyone hummed in agreement. Bruce smiled. He just made the worse mistake of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spring breaks coming soon so I'll have more time to work on this story! but For now enjoy!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three domestic moments.

"This was taken the day before our honeymoon"  
John said, Showing him a picture on his phone of the two of them front of a tropical beach. 

"I don't have that many pictures of us during our honeymoon... I was a little preoccupied." John and his mother both giggled.

Bruce resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

A week had passed, and they were still showing him photos. Bruce started suspecting that the pair were more excited to show off their scrapbooking collection then real concern over there son/spouses amnesia. 

But still a small grin Was plastered on his face. Not a fake one, a genuine grin. No matter how much he tried to deny it, or resist, or convince himself this wasn't his real life. There was still a great nostalgic warmth at seeing his family complete and alive. Even John, Despite I outward Appearances had grown on him.

(And luckily had not Insisted They do anything more then occasionally hold hands.)

"Ohh Let's take a picture right now!" His mother exclaimed, which caused John to squeal excitedly in response.

John fiddled with his phone for second, then raised it to get a better angle. The three of them scooted closer together for the sake of shot. Bruce could feel the body heat Radiating off of them.

He smiled as John snapped the picture.

What else could he do but go along?

. . .

"So you have a officially lost your mind, how's that been going for you" Jason said sarcastically over the phone.

Bruce had just learned from Alfred That the other two other robins were very much alive. Just away at college. Jason was a freshman and dick was a senior

Bruce faintly heard a offended 'Jason!' before hearing what must of been Dick grabbing the phone, because the next sounds to come out of the speaker where his voice. 

"He didn't mean that," Dick reassured. Bruce knew that already. -He was happy to hear that no matter the reality or dreamscape there dynamic very much stayed the same.

"Do you need use to visit to help you out?" Dick's worrying never failed to soften a small part of him. 

"No, I'd hate for you two to put pause on your entire lives all because of something that will probably go away within a week." Bruce laminated. 

He heard the boys bickering again. Then Jason whining. "You better down playing this old man, because if I find out you can't remember any of are birthdays, I will personally kick your ass into a senior home." He threatened with true sincerity.

Bruce then got roped into a conversation about campus life, with the two robin's interrupting there own story's to argue with each other every now and then. It took him hours to rip himself away the phone.

Later that night he snuck out of bed, it was what he did every night now. In a fruitless effort to search for clues. He returned home soon then he usually did. When he got back in his bed he cried quietly into his pillow so John couldn't hear.

. . .

His father, Alfred and him where playing a game of gulf. Mini golf specifically. 

"I will never respect anyone who takes gulf seriously." His father said. Getting out of the limo. 

"Mini golf I suppose. " Alfred replied.

The park was public, when his father suggested that they have a day out Bruce was nervous, positive that where ever they go will be a hive of paparazzi.  
But when they entered the mini wonderland was empty. Even the teenager that checked them in didn't seem to care that he was meeting Wayne's. Of course that could be because they where a teen.

"No. Mini golf is the most fun." His father clarified, stepping over the fake grass. "I can't think of a better sport to play with you and your intoxicated friends! Unless your the the only sober."

"Your a scoundrel." Alfred chuckled out. "you love it." His father said proudly. Bruce just stood there and basked in the sunny rays of there interactions. 

Then the game official started. The first obstacle was mad scientist themed. The hole was surrounded by plastic viles and potions. And in the center was a statue of Frankenstein monster.  
(The one from the 1931 movie. Not following Mary Shelleys original description.) 

Him and Alfred got hole in one but Thomas had to try three times before he could get the dimpled ball in. When he did get it in he glared as if daring them to say anything about it, nether of them did.

"This reminds me of a joke master John told me the other day." Alfred exclaimed.  
Bruce's skin turned prickly, it almost made him miss his father rolling his eyes. 

"It went: 'a man wakes up in a hospital, he cried "doctor doctor I can't feel my legs!" The doctor responds "I know! I amputated your arms!" 

Bruce laughs like a balloon deflating "now who's the scoundrel!" The Butler beams happily. They started walking to the next course.

"Yeah that sounds like something John would say." Is father muttered devoid of his usual humor. 

Alfred paused then turned to look at Thomas. "Oh don't you start being like that, it never ends well."

Thomas huffed. "I didn't state anything that wasn't true."

Now this was interesting, Bruces curiosity flare up instantly.

"Wait what do you guys mean by that, I'm at a lost." He tried to look as innocent and confused as possible, he even scratched his head for added effect.

"You mean he didn't tell you?"  
Thomas eyed him with a dark cloudy look. "Johns full name is 'John Doe' he was an Arkham inmate since he was thirteen... That was until you decided to marry him."  
His fathers face told him everything he needed to know about how he felt on the topic.

That explained why John had Therapy sessions twice every week. And why he was so reluctant to talk about his past that didn't involve Bruce.  
And since he has a undeniable resemblance to the Joker it made perfect sense that he had mental health issues. But what made this mirror version of Joker so different from his own? Was it because Bruce wasn't Batman? Did he really have that much of an effect on the clown Prince of crime?

"Thomas that wasn't for you to tell!" Alfred yelled defensively, he only addressed people without his normal formality when he was really angry. "Master John must of been waiting for the right moment."

His father was hurt and betrayed, it was something Bruce has never seen before. He was now truly at a lost.

"My son has a right to know that he married a freak!" Thomas shouted.

Then there was a long moment of silence. 

"I'm going back to the limo." The butler, the family friend, whispered before walking of. 

For awhile nether of spoke, only watched Alfred walk away. Even in rage he managed to hold on to his dignity. Bruce was glad he was not the angry with, at least he hoped not.

"I-I'm sorry Bruce I didn't mean it like that I-"

"No... It's fine. I'm just trying to process all of this new information. Ha it's funny... For a second I thought it was a gay thing." He didn't know if that was a very in-character thing to say. But the words where already out.

"It is certainly not! I just... I just think think you could do better."  
Thomas hanged his head in half shame. 

'now look who's being pretentious, ' Bruce thought, deciding against saying it aloud.

They both know there gonna have to follow Alfred soon there day out was officially dead. Bruce is prepared for a awkward silent car ride home. 

But Bruce couldn't help feeling relieved. He has found a flaw in this otherwise idealistic domestic dream world. He could almost convince himself that he wanted to go back to his true home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me much longer to write this chapter then I thought. Turns out writing during a global pandemic isn't the best. Oh well the next chapter will be the Very last. And I promise it will be up soon enough.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Bruce talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally chapter! I'd like to thank everyone for leaving there kudos and comments, this is my first multi chapter fic and your encouragement was everthing. I learned so much while writing this and I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I had writing it.

Bruce was never a cryer, so when John woke up to the sound of muffled sods coming from his spouses side of the bed he was at a complete loss at what to do.

"Brucie is that you?" He asked stupidly, who else would it be? But that was being a little unfair to himself, he was tired. Or is that just a lazy excuse for stupidity?

"J-john" Bruce responded way more meekly then you would think a man of his stature was capable of. 

"What is it love?" John said, letting his current goal of being caring and supportive override the internal fighting inside his brain. 

"Uhhoh it's nothing John."

"Uhhoh it's nothing John." John mimicked good naturally. "Are you really not going to tell me?"

"W-well I just-"

John realized what he had just done, he instantly felt guilty. "Oh I-I'm sorry I don't mean to pry. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to-"

"No no it's fine." Bruce interrupted. Then he sat up, looked down at John and said. "Do you ever feel like you don't belong in this world? That there's another version of are home, of you. And nothing you can do will take you back. That your stuck in this world where no one knows who you where." He

John blinked, then sat up with Bruce. "Is this about the amnesia beca-" John was cut off with the billionaire giving him a quick peck on the cheek. "No, I just want to know if you ever feel that way." Bruce whispered after his lips left John.

John was stunned. After Bruce's little 'accident' (as his step-mother so kindly put it.) Bruce hasn't shone him any sort of affection. How could he? He couldn't even remember him! And even though it made John feel incredibly selfish, has to admit he missed it.

"I kinda do feel that way," John replied. "I feel like everyone around me is a different species then me, that I'm a parasite only pretending to be normal. That I've been in human for so long that I've forgotten that I'm a hideous, horrible parasite. That I'll suck out all of the life of the people around me and not even know it. "

A tear ran down John's face. He could feel Bruce's gaze through the darkness of the room. Then he felt a pair of arms wrap around him in the warmest, tightest, most secure hug he ever felt.


End file.
